THE SUNDAY OliEGOZJflAN. PORTIiATfD, JANUARY 7, 1917. POETIC GEMS CULLED BY CHANCE FROM MANY SOURCES Lovers of Verse Contribute Poems on Varied Subjects for Enjoyment of The Oregonian Readers. 8 A NUMBER of contributors sent In New Year poems, which arrived too late for the New Tear page. Among thes- were copies of belated Christmas poems also. The limits of space make It Impossible for us to continue these seasonal poems, but we desire to acknowledge our Indebted ness to the contributors for their In terest. Among the requests that have come In recently are several for poems that liave been reprinted on this page al rpaiy, such as "Thanatopsls." "Curfew Shall Not Ring Tonight." "The Water That Has Passed" and others. Among the requests for poems that have come in the following: are a few: ".My Ain Countree." which begins, "I am far frae my hame, an' I'm weary Often whiles." "The Pilot." requested by J. T. Simp son, of Sheridan, who also asks for "The Slave's Dream." "Castles in the Air." requested by yv. A. Ball, of Spokane. "Washington. "Three leaves of Shamrock," wanted by Esther Waldorf. Miss Bernice Jones sends "My Sweet heart Went Down With the Maine," which was recently published, and re quests "Her Little Boy In Blue," a eong of the Spanish War- times. Ralph Dunn, of Bend, asks for the Indian eong, "Falling- Leaf," which troes in part: "Falling Leaf, the breezes Whisper, daughter of an Indian chief." Mrs. Mary Rogers, of McJkftnnvllle, requests the whole of the poem In Which tho following lines occur: Ob be not the first to discover, A blot In the fame of a friend, x A flaw in the faith of a lover. Who's heart may be true to tha end. "We none of us know one another. And oft Into error we fall. Bo let us speak well of our brother. Or let us speak not at all. A smile or a sigh may awaken. Suspicion most false and undue. And thus our belief may be shaken. In hearts that are honest and true." An entertaining ballad from the old English is sent in by Miss Dora A. Nettleblad, of Aberdeen. KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY. An ancient story I'll tell you anon. Of a -notable prince, that was ealled King John; He ruled over England with main and with might. For he did great wrong, and maintained little right. And I'll tell you a story, a story so merrye. Concerning the Abbot of Canterburye: How, for his housekeeping and high renowne. They rode poste for him at fair London towne. An hundred men, the King did hearsay, The Abbot kept in his house every day; And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt. In velvet coats waited the Abbot about. "How now. Father AbbottT I heare it of thee, Thou keepest a farre better bouse than me; And for thy housekeeping and high renowne, X fear thou work'st treason against my crown." "My liege," quo' the Abbot. "I would it were knowne. I never spend nothing but what Is my owne; And I trust your grace will doe me no deer For spending of my owne true-gotten gear." "Tea, yes. Father Abbot, thy faulte It is highe. And now for the same thou needest must dye; For except thou canst answer me ques tions three. Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie. "And first," quo' the King, "when rm in this stead. With my crown of golde, so falre, on my head. Among all my liege men, so noble of birthe. Thou must tell to one penny what I am worth. Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt. How soon I may ride the whole world about; And at the third question thou must not shrink. But tell me here truly what I do think' "Oh, these are deep questions for my shallow wit. Nor can I answer your grace as yet But If you will give me but three weeks' space. Til do my endeavor to answer your grace. "Now three weekes space to thee will I give. And that Is longest thou hast to live; For unless thou answer my questions three. - Thy life and thy lands are forfeit to me." Awav rode the Abbot, all sad at his word: And be rode to Cambridge and Oxen- ford: Rut never a doctor there was so wise, That could with his learning an answer devise. Then home rode the Abbot for comfort so cold. And he met his sheperd a-going to fold: "How, now, my Lord Abbot, you are welcome home. What newes do you bring us from good King John?" "Sad newes, sad newes, sheperd, I must C i VP. That t have but three flays more to live: For if I do not answer him questions three. My head will be smitten from my bodie, The first Is to tell him, there In his stead. With his crown of golde so fair on his head, Among all his liege men, hlrtb. so noble of To within one penny of what he Is worth. The seeonde. to tell him, without any Hnubt How soon he may ride this who! world about. And at the third question I must not ahrlnice. But tell him there trulye what he does thinke. "Now cheare up, sire abbot. Did you never heare yet That a fool may learn- a wise man witt Lend me horse and serving men an your apparel And I'll ride to London to answere your quarrel. "Nay, frowns not, if It hath bin told unto mee, I am like your lordship, as ever may bee; And If you will lend me your gowne. There is none shall knowe us at fair London towne." "Now horses and serving men thou shalt have. With sumptuous array most gallant and brave. With crosier and miter and rochet and cope. Fit to appear "fore our fader the Pope." "Now, welcome, sire abbot," the King he did say, 'Tls well thou'rt come to keep thy day: For and if thou canst answer my ques tions three. Thy life and thy living both saved shall bee. And first, when thou seest me here In this stead. With my crown of gold so falre on my head. Among all my liege men so noble of birthe. Tell me to one penny what I am worth." For thirty pence our Savior was sold Amonge the false Jews, as I have bin tola; And twenty-nine Is the worth of thee. For I thinke thou art one penny worser then nee. The King he laughed and swore by St. Bittel. I did not think I had been worth so llttel! Now secondly tell me, without any aouot. How soone I may ride this whole world about. "You must rise with the sun and ride with the same. Until the next morning he rlseth agalne: And then your grace need, not make any doubt. But In twenty-four hours you'll ride it about. The King he laughed and swore "by Jone, did not think It could he gone rone so soone! Now from the third Question thou must not shrinks. But tell me here truly what I do thinks." "Yes, that I do, and make your grace merry; You thinke I'm the abbot of Canter bury: But I'm his poor sheDerd. as nlatn you may see. That am come to beg pardon for him ana lor mee. The King he laughed, and swore, "By Lue masse, U make thee lord abbot this day In his Dlace!" Now naye. my liege, be not In shuch speeae. For alacke. I can neither i-lc-hr ' reade." Four nobles a week, then, I will give thee. For this merry Jest thou hast shown unto mee; And tell the old abbot. when comest h nm e. Thou hast brought him a pardon from guou xving John. Mrs. H. H. Smith contrlhnr.. th. owing: THE MILLINER. By J. A. Aulls. Jane Jenkins was a milliner. oyiusier tail and nllm Wwi plumed herself on pluming hats . viuoih ana leathers trim. She wore her hair In corkscrew curls She had a rubv nose: Though flowers and ribbons she dls- piayea She had, alasl no beaux. Her little store was o'er a store; She kept the latest styles; ' Her bonnets all were vnaih. In I lowers. Her face was wreathed In smiles. An old "foundation" she woujd take. xaen an ner art would bring To reconstruct a "perfect love"; A gem," ' A splendid thing." How deftly she could tie a tie. Though she was often tired. The ladies all cried out, "Oh my!" wneu mey ner work admired. But ah! she mourned her single lot; She felt she was unsought; A cipher, yet she sighed for one W ho would not count her naught. Auspicious fate! at length 'Squire Jones, A Dacneior forlorn. A modern-minded, model man. Came in one pleasant morn. His niece had sent a bonnet down To be "done up straightway: And he must get It without fall. bhe could not wait a day. He states his errand; oh, that smile! It made him feel so queer: And when the price was named to him bald he: "You re very dear." Her bosom heaved with wildest Joy; He shook with vague alarm; She stammered, sighed, then swooned away. And sank Into his arms. "Help! Help! A fit!" he loudly cried, And fanned her with his glove: Then dashed some water in her face. But she was dead In love. She soon came to; came others, too. To see what meant -such noise; And soon the shop was overflowed W ith women, men and boys. 'I'm thine till death," she sighed; said he: "What mean those words I hear?" 'Oh, Mr. Jones, how can you ask? You told me I was dear." "Oh, heavens!" he cried; "the price I meant I had no thought of you! But I surrender;.! discern What woman's wit can do. "Your lot's a lonely one at best. And mine's a lonely life A partner I will be to you, 'And you shall be my wife. "Let's wed at once," and wed they were; As down life's stream they glide. They feel, though single heretofore. They now float with the tied. Grace DeCou, of Eugene, contributes the following lyric, recently requested: THISTLEDOWN. By Richard Wartson Gilder. Fly, thistledown, fly From my lips to the lips that I love! Fly through the morning light. Fly through the shadowy light. Over the sea and land. Quick as the lark. Through twilight and dark. Through lightning and thunder Till no longer asunder We stand. For thy touch like the lips of her lover Moves her being to mine. . We are one in a swoon divine! Fly, thistledown, fly From my lips to the lips that I love. "Sister Mary," recently requested, has been sent by Jennie Wooley. of Eu gene: Monica Duff, Mrs. J. E. Bates, of Umpqua, and Mrs. J. D. Angee, of Corvallis, Wash. Mrs. Angee sends also "In the Baggage Coach Ahead," which has been reprinted already. "Sister "The poems of Eugene Field which of them, "Little Boy Blue" probably is touch o fthe artist who created it. Mrs. Mary" was very popular half a century ago: WE ARES COMING, SISTER 5IARY. On a stormy night in Winter, wnen the wind blew cold and wet. I heard some strains of music That I never shall forget. I was sitting In my cabin. with my Mary, fair and young-. When a light shone In the window, And a band of singers sung: CHORUS: We are coming. Sister Mary. We are coming bye and bye. Be ready, dearest Mary, For the time Is drawing nigh. I tried to call my Mary, But my tongue would not obey 'Till the song so Btrange had ended. And the singers flown away: Then I woke her from her slumber, And I told her everything. But I could not guess the meaning Of the song I heard them sing. CHORUS: We are coming. Sister Mary, We are coming bye and bye, Be ready, dearest Mary, For the time is drawing nigh. When the next night came. I heard them. And the third night, too, they sung. As I sat beside the pillow Of my Mary, fair and young; As I watched I heard a rustle. Like the rustling of a wing. And near my Mary's pillow Very soon I heard them sing: CHORUS: We are coming. Sister Mary, We are coming bye and bye. Be ready, dearest Mary, For the time la drawing nigh. I tried to wake my Mary. But my sorrow was complete. For I found her heart of kindness Had forever ceased to beat; And now I'm very lonely From Summer "round to Spring, And oft in midnight slumbers, I seem to hear them sing: CHORUS: We are conning. Sister Mary, We are coming bye and bye. Be ready, dearest Mary, For the time is drawing nigh. Mrs. H. H. Smith sends the follow lng Will Carlton story of "The Stylish Church." THE OLD ' MAN IN THE STYLISH CHURCH. Well, wife, I've been to church today been to a stylish one And seeing you can't go from home. I'll tell you what was done. You would have been surprised to see what I saw there today; The sisters were fixed up so fine they hardly bowed tp pray. I had on these coarse clothes of mine not much the worse for wear But. then, they knew I waint one they d call a millionaire; So they led the. old man to a seat away back by the door; "Twas bookless and uncushloned a re served seat for the poor. Pretty soon In came a stranger with gold rings and clothing fine; They led him to a cushioned seat far in advance of mine; I thought that wasn't" exactly right to seat him up so near. When he was young and I was old, and , very hard to hear. But there's no accounting for what some people do. The finest clothing nowadays oft gets the finest pew; But when we reach the blessed home, and. undefiled by sin. We'll see wealth begging at the gate. while poverty goes In. I couldn't hear the sermon, I sat so far away; So through-the hour of service. I could only "watch and pray"; Watch the doin's of the Christians sit ting near me. round about; Pray that God would make them pure within, as mey were pure wnn out. While I sat there, lookin' all aTound uoon the rich and great. I kept thinkin' of the rich man and the beggar at the gate; How, by all but dogs forsaken, the i poor beggar s form grew. cold. 77ze 7 He. toy efoj7 iscovered 'wjIl dust, Sut sturdy and $7ahch he standS; .And the7jftfe toy 5o7der75rediv7tftruaf And hid mu57te7jnxou7ds2n2td7iands. Time waa when the 7itt7e toydoy wsjnejt? And the 5o7dzer was paainy fair; Andfhaffvaatfiefime wnznourlifttejBoy37ue Jfijaed.fhem.andputthem therein '7fbwdon?gofi7rTcome,' 'he jalcf, nd don't. you znaJce any nozje 5a toddling off to his frundte hed jfe dreamt of the- pretty toy$; And,a he w&5 dreaming, ananyelaony . Afirahrened 'our Zitte jDoyZ37ue- Ohf fAeyeara are many, the ypar5 ar&7ony BuVfne 7ftffe toy. fh'encfe, are. true,? 4:faittrfuttoZi1tteJ3oyB7ue?fi jzacji m ines &dzne oiu pia&e,, Awaifiny the touch of a. h'ftfe hand. The 5mite of a 7 i file fhce, ndthey wonder aa wajfftytte7on?yeanj?n?iyft In the dujfoffhafhitffe chair What haa hecome of ourZjitfe23oyZ37ue cSfncehe 7ci55ed them andputtTfem there. have nestled into the hearts of the American neonle are leeion. but amone all best remembered. It is one of the most perfect examples of the delicate A. G. Wallace ha3 furnished the copy used here. And the angels bore his spirit to the mansions built of gold. How, at last, the rich man perished. and his spirit took its flight. From the purple and fine linen to the home of endless night; There he learned, as he stood gazln' at the beggar in the sky. "It Isn't all of life to live nor all of death to die." I doubt not there were wealthy sires In that religious fold. Who went up from their dwellings like the Pharisee of old; Then returned home from their wor ship with a head uplifted high. To spurn the hungry from their door with naught to. satisfy. Out!, put! with, such professions; they are doing more today ift stop the weary sinner from the Gospel's shining way. Than all the books of infidels; than all that has been tried Since Christ was born in Bethlehem since Christ was crucified. How simple are the works of God, and yet how very grand ; The shells In ocean caverns the flow ers on the land He gilds the clouds of evenln with gold-light from his throne Not for the rich man only, nor for the poor alone. Then why should man look down on man because of lack of gold? Why send him to the poorest pew be cause his clothes are old? A heart with nobler motives a heart that God has 'blest May be beatln' heaven's music 'neath that faded coat and vest. I'm old I may be childish but I love simplicity; I love to see it shlnln' In a Christian's piety. Jesus told us In his sermon. In Judea's mountain wild. He that wants to go to heaven must be like a little child. Our heads are growing gray, dear wlfo our hearts are beating Blow In a little while the Master will call for us to go: When we reach the pearly gateways and look In with joyful eyes. We'll see no stylish worship in the temple of the skies. Fred O. Ellis, of Bralntree, Mass. has sent us the following old "Ballad of the North," similar to the song of "The Northwest Passage, published some time ago: A SONG OF THE NORTH. (By Elizabeth Doten. 1854.) "Away! away!" cried the stout Sir John. "While the blossoms are on the trees; For the Summer is short and the time speeds on. As we sail for the Northern Seas. Ho! Gallant Crozier, and brave Fitz James! We will startle the worW. I trow, When we find a. way through the Northern Seas That never was found till now! A good, stout ship is the Erebus As ever unfurled a sail. And the Terror will match with brave a one As ever outrode a gale." as So they bade farewell to their pleas ant homes. To the hills and valleys green. With three hearty cheers for their native isle And three for the English Queen. They sped them away beyond cape and bay. Where the day and night are on Where the blazing light In the heavens grew bright And flamed like a midnight sun. There was naught below save the fields of snow. That stretched to the icy pole; And the Eskimo in his strange canoe Was the only living soul; Along the coast, like a giant host. The glittering Icebergs frowned. Or they met on the main, like a battle plain. And crashed with a fearful soundl The seal and the bear, with a curious stare. Looked down from the frozen heights. And the stars In the skies, with their i great wild eyes, Peered out from the northern lights. The gallant Crozier and the brave Fuz James, And even the stout Sir John. Felt a doubt like a chiill through their warm hearts thrill As they urged the good ships on. They sped them away beyond cape and bay, Where even the tear drops freeze: But no way was found, by strait or sound. To sail through the Northern Seas. They sped them away, beyond cape and bay. And they sought, but they sought In vain! For no way was found through the Ice around To return to their homes again. But the wild waves rose and the waters froze. Till they closed like a orison wall. And the icebergs stood. In the silent rood, Like iailers grim and tall! O God! O God! it was hard to die In that prison house of lcel For what was fame or a mighty name When life was the fearful price? The gallant Crozier and the brave Fltz James And even the stout Sir John. Had a secret dread, and their hopes all fled As the weeks and months passed on. Then the Ice king came, with his eyes or name. And looked on the fated crew: His chilling breath was as cold as death And it pierced their warm hearts through! - A heavy sleep that was dark and deep Came over their weary eyes. And they dreamed strange dreams of the hills and streams And the blue of their native skies: The Christmas chimes of the good old times Were heard In each dying ear. And the darling feet and the voices sweet Of their wives and children dear! But It faded away away away- Like a sound on a distant shore. And deeper and deeper came the sleep. am mey slept to waKe no more! O, the sailor's wife and the sailor'. cnildl They weep and watch and nrav And the Lady Jane, she will hope In vain As the long years pass away! The gallant Crozier and the brave Fltz James And the good Sir John have found An open way to a quiet bay Ana a port wnere.all are bound! Let the waters roar on the Ice-bound shore That circles the frozen pole. But there is no .sleep and no grave so deep That can hold the human soul. One of the most powerful of N. P. vv mis' poems is "Hagar." Willis is better known to readers of 40 years ago than to the modern generation, but his position among American poets Is still most secure. Ruth Luce contri butes the copy. HAGAR IX THE WILDERNESS. By N. P. Willis. The morning broke, light stole upon the clouds With a strange beauty. Earth received again Its garments of a thousand dyes, and leaves. And delicate blossoms, and the painted nowers. And everything that bendeth to the dew And stirreth with the daylight, lifted up . , Its beauty to the breath of that sweet morn. All things are dark to sorrow; and the light And loveliness and fragrant air were sao. To the dejected Hagar. The moist earth was pouring odor from its spicy pores. And the young birds were singing as if life Were a new thing to them; but music came Upon her ear like discord, and she felt That pang of the unreasonable heart That, bleeding amid things It loved so veil. Would have some sign of sadness as they pass. She stood at Abraham's tent. Her lips were pressed Till the blood started; and the wander ing veins Of her transparent forehead were swelled out. As If her pride would burst them. Her dark eye Was clear and tearless, and the light of heaven. Which made Its language legible, shot back, From her long lashes, as It had been a flame. Her noble boy stood, by her, with his hand Clasped in her own. and his round. delicate feet. Scarce trained to balance on the tented floor. Sandaled for Journeying. He bad looked up Into his mother's face, until he caught The spirit there, and his young heart was swelling Beneath his dimpled bosom, and his form Straightened up proudly In his tiny wrath As his light proportions would have swelled Had they but matched his spirit to the man. Why bends the patriarch as he eometh now Upon his staff so wearily? His beard Is low upon his breast, and his high brow. So written with the converse of his God, Beareth the swollen vein of agony. His lip is quivering, and his wonted step Of vigor Is not there; and though the morn Is passing fair and beautiful, he breathes Its freshness as If It were a pestilence. He gave to her the water and the' breads But spoke no word, ana trusted not himself To look upon her face, but laid his hand. In silent blessing on the fair-haired boy. And left her to her lot of loneliness. Should Hagar weep? May slighted woman turn And. as a vine the oak has shaken off. Bend lightly to her leaning trust again? Oh. no! by all her loveliness, by all That makes life poetry and beauty, nol Make her slave: steal from her rosy cheek By needless Jealousies: let the last star Leave her a watcher by your couch of pain. Wrong her by petulance, suspicion, all That makes her cup of bitterness, yet give One evidence of love, and earth has not An emblem of devotedness like hers. But, oh! estrange her once it boots not how By wrong or 'silence, anything that tells A chanse has come upon your tender ness. And there is not a feeling out of heaven Her pride o'ermastereth not. She went her way with a strong step and slow. Her pressed lips arched, and her clear eye undimmea. As If It were a diamond, and her form Borne proudly up as If her heart breathed through Her child kept on in silence, though ttp nressed His hand till It was pained; for he had The dark look on his mother, and the seed Of a stern nation had been breatnea unnn The morning passed, and Asia's sun rode up In the clear heaven, and every beam was heat. The cattle of the hills were in me shade And the bright plumage of the Orient lav On beating blossoms In her spicy trees. It was an hour of rest! but Hagar fou id Vn hiter In the wilderness, ana on She kept her weary way. unin mo no; Hung down his neaa, ana opened ma parched lips . For water; but she could not rive it htm. She laidTilm down beneath the sultry Tn, it was better than the close, noi rreath Of the thick pines, and tried to com fort him But he was sore athlrst. and his blue eyes Were dim and bloodshot, and he could not know ... Why God denied him water In the wild sh. mat little lonirer and he grew Ghastly and faint, as If he would have died. , . Tt wa too much for ner. one nuca him And bore him further on. and laid his head nniiith the shadow or swaeseri snruo. mH nhroudlnir ud her face, she went MWJiV And sat to watch, where he could see her not. Till he should die: and. watching him, she mourned: "God stay thee in thy agony, my boy! T rannot see thee die: I cannot brook fnon thv brow to look. And see death settle on my cradle Joy. How have I drunk the light of thy blue eyes! Ana could I see thee die? I did not dream of this when thou vt atravinc Like an unbounded gazelle among the flowers: Or wilinsr the soft hours By the rich gush of water sources play- Then sinking weary to thy smiling sleeD. So beautiful and deep. "Oh, no! and when I watched by thee thA while And saw thy bright lip curling In thy dream An thnmrht of the dark stream In mv own land of Egypt, the far Nile, vrw nnved I that my father's land might be An heritage for thee! "And now the grave for Its cold breast hath won thee! And thy white, delicate limbs the earth will press , And. oh! my last caress Must feel thee cold; for a chill hand is on thee. How can I leave my boy so pillowed there Upon his clustering hair!" She stood beside the well her God hath Riven To gush In that deep wilderness, and bathed The forehead, of her child unttl he laughed In his reviving happiness, and lisped His Infant thought of gladness at the sight Of the cool plashing of his mother's hand. Ruth Luce contributes a copy of "Jeptha's Daughter." by WilUs. A copy of MacClaine'a Child" came also from her. but this has been reprinted already. "JEPTHA'S DAUGHTER." BT N. P. WILLIS. And Jephtba vowed a vow unto the Lord 1 and ld: "it thou oha'.t without fall de liver th children of Ammon into mint hands, then it shall be, that whatever comelh forth from the doors of my lionya to meet me. when I return in pt ace from the children of Ammon. shall eurt'ly be th Lord's, and 1 will off r It up for a burnt offering." Judges. xliliO, SI. She stood before her father's gorgeous tent To listen for his coming; her loose hair Was resting on her shoulders, like a cloud Floating around a statue, and the wind Just ewayinfr her light robe, revealed a shape Praxiteles might worship. She had clasped Her hands upon her bosom and had raised Her beautiful, dark. Jewish eyes to heaven. Till the long lashes lay upon her brow. Her lip was slightly parted, like the cleft Of a pomegranate blossom; and her neck Just where the cheek was melting to Its curve With the unearthly beauty sometimes there. Was shaded as if light had fallen eft. Its surface was so polished. She was stilling Her light, quick breath to hear; and the white rose Scarce moved upon her bosom, as tt swelled. Like nothing but a lovely wave of lisrht. i To meet the arching of her queenly neck. Her countenance -was radiant with love. She looked like one to die for lt-a be ing Whose whole existence was the pour ing out Of rich and deep affections. Onward came the leaden tramp of thousands. Clarion notes Rang; sharply on the ear at intervals: And the low. mingled din of mighty hosts. Returning from the battle, poured from afar. Like the deep murmur of a restless sea. They came as earthly conquerera al way come. With blood and splendor, revelry and woe. The stately horse treads proudly he hath trod The Brow of death, as well. The char iot wheels Of warriors roll majrnincently on Their weight hath crushed and fallen. Man Is there Majestic, lordly man with his sublime And elevated brow and p:o41ike frame. Lifting his crest in triumph for his heol Hath trod the dylns like a winepress down! The mighty. Jephtha led his warriors on Through Mizpah's streets. His helm was woutily set And his stern lip curled slightly, as if praise Were for the heroes' scorn. His step was tlrm. But free as India's leopard, and his mail. Whose shekels none In Israel might bear. Was like a cedar's tassel on his frame. His crest was Judah's klngllest, and the look Of his dark, lofty eye and bended brow Might quell the lion. He led on; but thoughts Seemed gathering round which troubled him. The veins Grew visible upon his swarthy brow And his proud lip was pressed as lr with pain. He trod less firmly and his restless eye Glanced forward frequently, as if some ill He dared not meet were there. His home was near. And men were thronging with that strange delight They hav in human passions, to ob serve The strnpRle of his feelings with his pride. He gazed Intensely forward. The tall firs Before his door were motionless. The leaves Of the sweet aloe and the clustering vines Which half concealed his threshold met his eye. Unchanged and beautiful, and one by one The balsam, with Its sweet distilling items, And the Circassian rose, and all the crowd Of silent and familiar things stole up. Like the recovered passages of dreams. He strode on rapidly. A moment more And he reached his home; when lo! there sprang One with a bouncing footstep, aid a brow Of light, to meet him. Oh. how beau tiful: Her dark eye flashing like a sunlit gem And her luxuriant hair 'twas like the sweep Of a swift wing In visions. He stood still. As If the sight had withered him. Bhe threw Her arms about his neck: He heeded not. She called him "Father." but he an swered not. She stood and gazed upon him. Was he wroth There was no anger In that . bloodshot eye. Had Etekness seized him? She un clasped his helm And laid her white hand gently on his . brow. And the large veins felt stiff and hard, like cords. The touch aroused him. He raised up hii hands And spoke the name of God. In agony. She knew that he was stricken then, and rushed Again into his arms, and with a flood Of tears she could not stay, she sobbed a prayer That he would breathe his asony In words. He told her and a momentary flush Shot o'er her countenance; and then the soul Of Jephtha's daughter wakened; and she stood Calmly and nobly up, and said "twas well And she would die. ....... The sun had well nigh set. The fire was on the altar; and the priest Of the High God was there. A pallid man. Was stretching out his trembling hands to heaven. As If he would have prayed, but no words And she who was to die, the calmest one In Israel at that hour, stood up alone And wailed for the sun to set. Her face Was pale, but very beautiful her lip Had a more delicate outline, and the tint Was deeper; but her countenance was like The majesty of angels. The sun was set And she was dead but not by violence.